As I enter the chapel each week, my knees hit the floor and I bend low: My Lord and my God!
Not insignificantly, my Lord and my God has toes.
And I’m struck deeply by the delightful humanity of it all. The precious and weighty reality of the Incarnation becomes, remarkably, accessible. And in that moment of recognition, I find this God, who is undeniably wondrous and magnificent as the Creator of the Cosmos, all at once, very much lovable to my down-to-earth womanly sensibilities.
I have a God with toes. Isn’t THAT amazing?!
I meditate and my own mother’s heart begins to rev in high gear. I start to muse about the Babe of Bethlehem, born to Mother Mary and Joseph. I can picture the delightful scene … where natural motherlove kisses the feet of her newborn. Oh yes! Kissing infant feet lavishes love from head to toe!
Of course, I’m only surmising here, but you get the picture… I can quickly recall my own joy in kissing and counting and adoring those “piggy toes” of my own three children.
But these toes that I find in the chapel, that were once treasured by a young mother, are now mature… and then I’m thinking of another woman.
I envision a woman who was once so transformed by love of this God-made-man – this God with toes – that she sought to lay herself and her burdens at his feet, kissing them and washing them with her tears and her hair. (Lk 7:37-38.) Her actions signal surrender, and a yielding to sublime love, tender and chastely passionate all at once.Here's the whole piece.